Ecstasy [d.t.]

one.

Click, click, click.

You seriously wondered why you had even bothered to wear your high heels to the interview. Skittering down eighteen crowded blocks in New York City wasn't the ideal way to start your day. You hadn't even entered the building yet, and you had already broken a sweat. A passerby couldn't be bothered to hold the door open for you, even in recognition of your struggle to juggle your coffee, briefcase, and purse all at once. Typical New York inhabitant.

Somehow, you managed to enter the building, a bit frazzled and more than likely a little sweaty from your speed walk. Besides that, there was nothing else much that required your immediate attention. You had all your belongings, you weren't the least bit nervous, and the woman at the front desk seemed to be all too happy to greet you.

"Good morning, ma'am. Welcome to the Trump Towers, how may I be of assistance?" She politely stated.

"Hello, I'm here to apply for the position of general manager. A friend of mine who has been in this field for around fifteen years recommended me to the previous manager, Mr. Musso, I believe it was. As he is retiring, he had agreed to meet with me for an interview, in hopes that I make the cut," you responded in about as much of a professional tone as you could muster.

"Of course, of course! Right this way." the woman stood and led you down a hallway to one of the unused event rooms. You quietly thanked her, and she guided you to a seat, amongst several, of which the majority were taken. Apparently more people had sought after this job than you had anticipated.

Was it even worth your time?

Your brain debated back and forth. You really needed a job, you needed cash, and with lightning speed. It was only a month before you were to be evicted from your 2,000 dollars a month studio dump. What were the odds you would land this job?

You sat patiently, immediately catching onto faint chit-chat from what appeared to be another applicant being interviewed. If you had to take a guess, around twenty more people followed in after you, ready to present themselves and hopefully take over this pristine position.

Soon enough, it was your turn to be interviewed.

Here goes nothing.

***

"Thank you for your consideration, Mr. Musso. I wish you and your loved ones a lovely evening. And I hope that whoever may be chosen to fulfill this position will treat it with respect and dignity."

The fat old man thanked you and waved you out, calling up a greasy corndog lookin' man that bumped into you on your way out. It took much strength to not call him a few choice names. You attained such a colorful vocabulary throughout the years, yet you suddenly realized that it needed to be extinguished. You were applying for a professional job in the hospitality industry, the last thing you needed to do was call someone a bubble blowing baby. Or worse, a doofus.

You weren't sure what time it was when you collapsed on your bedsheets, but what you do remember is that your eyes instantly shut from exhaustion.

OoOOoOoO time skip brought to you by:

Kelpo! With one of 8 essential prizes inside!

"OH MY GOD I GOT THE JOB!" Your whiny bitch ass cried.

You flew to the Trump Towers to meet with Mr. Musso again. When you arrived, the tattered old man wasn't having any of your shit. He made sure that you shut up and demanded that you stayed shut up while he took you on a tour through the hotel. You learned all the tricks of the trade, the secrets inside and out. Apparently each of the guests in the Royal Suits would have your cell phone number directly, to call you in case their snooty asses wanted a belly rub or some shit. You didn't mind.

Finally, you rested on the balcony of one of the Royal Suits, Mr. Musso further informing you on protocol and other vital information that he deemed necessary. You found it to become gradually more difficult to listen to the little sausage man speak, his words sounding more like garbled noises to you. It had been a full ten hours at the hotel, and you hadn't had but a drop to eat. Then, one of his phrases clicked.

Your whole world lit up.

"You will be meeting with Mr. Trump tomorrow, Miss (Y/N). He will wish to speak with you one-on-one before you acquire this position. Once he gives the OK, then you'll start the following week."

"DADDY TRUMP?"

Did you say that out loud? You hoped not.

Thank the heavens you didn't.

"Oh. Splendid. I'll be looking forward to it," you replied with a sickeningly sweet smile.

"Now scram," said the hotdog. "These sweet cheeks need to get to Barcelona before I lose my fucking mind. Good luck, kid. You're gonna need it." he then proceeded to jump off the balcony, landing square on a pterodactyl and he soared off into the sunset.

"Goodbye sausage man," you whispered, a tear trailing down your cheek.

"MR. MUSSO WHO? HAHAHAHAA I CAN'T WAIT TO MEET DADDY TRUMP!" And you skipped down one hundred and thirty eight flights of stairs, only tripping on a third of them. You went to sleep that night feeling giddy, you were so excited. xD

time t o delete myself xD rawr. vote for this damn story if you want some free cheetos. thank you

-autho r